Healer of hearts, where are you?

Where is my antidote?
Healer of hearts, where are you?
Will you rescue me from my distress?
Men’s empty embrace cannot caress the wounds only you see.
A strange man plants a soft kiss on my cold cheek,
yet feels how I do not shift.
Beside my bedside table lie empty prescription bottles—
they cannot medicate my soul, my mind.
I beg for a blunt to my suffering,
yet no drink, no pill, no kiss remedies me.
Where is my sister’s warm embrace?
It has left me,
and so I put myself together,
as if dressing a wound.
I’ve been speared beyond what others can see.
My mother brings me sweets—
but it is too late.